


if you wake up (before the blow)

by alovelessgame



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1982796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alovelessgame/pseuds/alovelessgame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the chaos of the Extermination dies down the soul mate phenomena falls into relative obscurity, relegated to fairy tales and wishful thinking. Alex Lannon did not want nor need a soul mate and he especially did not need one that wasn't even human to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the fervent belief that every show should have at least one soul mate au. As opposed to other depictions of soul mates as a societal norm, I think that the people of Dominion would be a little too busy (what with trying to survive) to deal with something that sounds like it came out of a fairy tale and that is almost impossible to quantify. Not to mention the fact that the majority of the human population has been wiped out, making it even more unlikely you'll find your match.
> 
> Title is from "Frontier City" by Kings of Leon.
> 
> I spend most of my time at thunder-strange.tumblr.com

When Alex is eleven, his father dies.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Alex’s father dies when Alex is only a few months old, sprawled out beside a clawfoot bathtub and sobbing piteously into the blood-matted hair of Alex’s mother. Alex’s tiny form is clutched tightly in her arms, his high pitched screams echoing off of the walls of the abandoned house. He begins to settle when a strange man picks him up and cradles him awkwardly, as though he had never been shown how to hold a baby yet retains some sort of instinct for it, but his whimpers never fully cease.

Growing up, Alex doesn’t realize that the oppressive silences that sometimes take weeks to break and the alcohol his father indulges in to the point of blackout are a direct result of Charlie’s death. By the time Alex is eight he’s coltishly thin and has already spent more time outside of the walls of Vega than in them, learning how to shoot and pickpocket and _survive._ His father seems to thrive on knowing there are dangers constantly lurking just outside of the small safe houses they hole up in, a complete contrast to the inebriated and insensate state he firmly resides in when inside of the safety of the city walls. There, Jeep is oftentimes barely aware enough to keep them both alive and fed, but in the vast stretches of the desert surrounding a decaying metropolis, Alex can sometimes catch glimpses of his father as he must have been years ago, boyish and roguish and risk-taking.

That life lasts until the attack at the farmhouse. Seven days later Jeep is gone, leaving nothing in his wake but a drawer full of clothes, a note stating his apologies, and a newly minted V1 son. Alex manages to hide out in their apartment until the landlord comes knocking for the next month’s rent, taking one look at Alex’s wane and tear-streaked face and calling security. Vega’s Classification Centers are identical to the same dreary, squat grey buildings that partially encircle the outside of Vega’s perimeter wall, the only difference seeming to be the general lack of broken glass and the small staff of bored-looking Classers. Alex sits in a threadbare chair in front of a well-worn desk and one of said bored-looking Classers and watches as, after listening to his explanation for why he was living inside of an apartment by himself for over a month, she begins to methodically delete all the information in his father’s classification folder.

The realization that, in the eyes of Vega, his father doesn’t exist anymore is enough to churn his stomach. He knots his trembling hands together in the pocket of his ratty hoodie. The Classer says _they might have a place open for you at one of the local children’s shelters_ and _the rumors about what happens there are completely untrue, you can trust me on this_ but everybody who’s anybody knows what really goes on behind the closed doors of the shelters. _No,_ Alex decides as the Classer turns away to call security to escort him there _, I’d rather take my chances in the tunnels._ After all, hadn’t his father been teaching him how to survive alone while he was waiting for the opportune moment to leave Alex, like he’d always been the trash Vega now considered him to be?

It took a long time to come to terms with the way of life in the tunnels, cold and stinking and inhospitable; its barrenness constantly at war with the memories of what it had been like _before_. Alex went on a lot of trips aboveground in those first few months to stake out the old apartment, the faint hope that Jeep would change his mind never really leaving him. He could see it now: Jeep collapsing at their old doorstep, frazzled and wind burnt and inconsolable over what might have happened to Alex in his absence. Alex would run to him, living proof that he had been able to survive using what his father had taught him, maybe bringing along a couple of the other tunnel-rats as well. _Are you proud of me?_ he’d ask and Jeep would say _Yes, of course I am_ and things would go back to normal. They’d be together again; a family again. But that scenario never manifested outside of his dreams and eventually Alex began to drift further and further away from the memories he held of his father. I _should’ve known better_ , he thought. _I should’ve known he wouldn’t stick around forever._

After all, Jeep had died the moment his soul mate was gone.

*

When Alex finally sees the Archangel Michael for the first time, he’s 20 years old and strangely unimpressed. While truly as handsome as everyone says, with pouty lips and hooded eyes, Michael is also tall and lithe, nothing like what Alex had imagined a warrior angel to look like. He honestly looks like a stiff wind could blow him over at any moment, a sentiment that some of the burlier of Alex’s brethren seem to share judging by the disbelieving looks. Alex shares such a look with Ethan, who in turn seems to be trying to hide a smile.

“The problem with these soldiers,” he had told Alex on their first day of training, “is that they don’t appreciate what kind of damage little guys like us can do. And that ignorance allows us the freedom to do _a lot_ of damage before they can catch on.”

 _Which turned out to be true_ , Alex thought. Although he had certainly bulked up from the nearly-emaciated form he had obtained from scavenging in the tunnels with the help of a V2’s steady food supply, Ethan had remained long and lean and was still able to kick most of their fellow soldier’s asses during sparring. Perhaps it was their admittedly unconventional backgrounds and fighting records that were behind this sudden invitation to try out for a new corps. Ethan had heard whispers floating around about this for months now. _The angel has been getting uppity_ , the V5’s had said, careful to always be out of earshot from the subject of their conversations. _The Lord of the City gives him everything he wants and now he demands an entire corps of his own?_

Ethan had kept his ears open and his eyes averted, assimilating and processing this information as if it were rumors spreading through the tunnel’s gangs. There was a fine line between knowing too much and not enough when you lived down there and residing on either end of the spectrum tended to end up with you being dead. Quickly. So Ethan kept his head down and his mouth shut, only repeating what he’d heard to Alex. But the difference between knowing something huge was about to happen and actually being asked to participate in it was _worlds_ apart and both Alex and Ethan were now moorless in the situation. Hell, the only other person invited from their squadron had been Noma Walker, a firecracker who claimed to be from a V2 family but who sometimes reminded Alex of some of the tunnel-rats he had grown up alongside.

“There’s only ten spaces available and over forty people trying out,” Alex had whispered after lights out the day they received their orders.

“And they were only picking two people from each squadron until they invited Noma.” Ethan’s voice was barely audible over the snores resounding throughout the barracks. “It’ll be tough competition, I can tell you that much.”

Alex shrugged, feeling the flimsy metal of the bunk-bed move with him. “It’s better rations and easier guard duty. The worst we’ll ever have to face is a V5 who can’t find their watch or runaway dog or something.”

Ethan’s laughter was barely louder than a breath, but Alex could feel the bedframe shake. “If you’re sure about this, then we’ll do it. I doubt we’ll get picked anyway.”

“That’s the spirit.” Alex had muttered.

Now, though, it was difficult to say whether they had made the right decision. On one hand, there was the extra rations and more time off that Alex could use to go see some of the kids who still lived in the tunnels and actually spend some time with Bixby, but Ethan might have been right about the slim chance of making it through. Most sensible corps leaders would pick their squadron, especially one meant to take on a bodyguard capacity for Vega’s wealthiest and most powerful, based on size and shooting accuracy. Neither of which Alex or Ethan had been particularly gifted with.

Pulling away from his pessimistic thoughts, Alex raised his gaze just in time to see Michael sweep out of the room, the large double doors slamming shut behind him. Confused murmuring began to spread among the soldiers and Ethan shot a look at Alex that clearly said, _See? I told you so._ Alex lifted one shoulder and focused his attention on the officer standing at the front of the room, staring at the doors Michael had just gone through as though he could use the sheer power of his glare to force him to come back.

“So what gives?” a member of D squadron snorted just a little too loudly in the nearly silent room. “I thought we were going to have a chance to spar or something to qualify.”

The officer – _Nadam? Kadam? something like that_ – turned towards the group and cleared his throat angrily. “It has _just_ been brought to my attention that a mistake seems to have occurred. Only the people already selected were meant to be notified of their change in squadron. When I call out your name, please step forward and then the rest of you will be free to leave. I apologize for any _inconvenience_.” This was punctuated by another glare aimed towards the doors, which remained stubbornly closed.

Alex felt a dull pain spread through his chest. The odds in their favor may have been small, but having to stand there and watch as his chances to finally be able to give Bixby some extra food slipped away from him was painful. While the thought of spending every guard duty babysitting V5 and 6’s didn’t sound like his idea of a fun time, he wouldn’t have to worry about some of their riskier rotations in parts of Vega where even tunnel-rats refused to go. But when had fate or hope ever been kind to him and his -

“Lannon, Mac, and Walker. That’s it, the rest of you can leave.”

Alex stepped forward on autopilot and turned just in time to see Ethan’s gobsmacked expression. Noma was standing on his other side, not even bothering to try to contain her laughter at his expense. “What’s wrong, Mac? You look like an eight-ball got your tongue.”

Ethan’s expression quickly melted into a frown. “Just amazed that they picked you, Noma. So, how do you _really_ feel about having to watch an eighty year old man bathe in order to keep him safe from the angels?”

Noma’s face contorted into a moue of distaste. “You’re fucking disgusting, Mac.”

“I know, I love you too.”

“ – and if Walker and Mac are done playing verbal grab-ass, we can finally move on to what you need to know about this new assignment you’re being given.” The officer’s voice was sharp enough to cause even Ethan, who had little to no sense of shame, to cringe in embarrassment. The rest of the squadron were already focused on their new superior officer. “Now, you ten have been selected by the Archangel Michael himself. There was no reason for a try out because he’s already seen every single one of you in action at one time or another.”

 _And yet I’ve never seen him before in my life,_ Alex thought. _Although it would make sense to research the possible future members of your own personal corps._

“You will be moved to a new barrack, located at the base of the nest – I mean, the Tower – later on today and you will receive your new orders and rotations at 0600 tomorrow. Dismissed.”

“I told you we’d make it.” Alex hissed as the small group began to disperse and make their way back towards the main barracks.

“Liar, pants on fire!” Ethan exclaimed, poking at his shoulder until Alex could swat him away. “You’re a fucking liar and you know it! You didn’t think we’d get picked any more than I did.”

“Well you know me, Mr. Brightside.” Even Noma snorted at that.

“Does anyone else find it uber creepy that an Archangel has apparently been spying on us without any of us figuring it out?” She was surreptitiously scanning the surrounding building’s roof-lines as they walked, as though Michael were hiding up there right now listening in on their conversation.

“Super creepy,” Alex agreed. “There’s no way around that, but maybe we should just be glad he picked us ahead of time. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t want to have to try to fight Thomas from squad A for a position. I _like_ having my arms attached to my body.”

“Too true,” Ethan laughed, “Did you see his face when his name wasn’t called? I thought he was going to have an aneurysm. Or try to go after Michael himself.”

Noma nodded. “Now that I would’ve paid to see!”

“My money is on Michael just using his wings to slit Thomas’ throat. No muss, no fuss.”

“You can’t make bets on events that never even occurred, Mac.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Walker!”

The sounds of his friend’s bickering and vague threats had been the background soundtrack to most of Alex’s years as a soldier. As Ethan and Noma began to go into graphic detail over what the other could expect at tonight’s sparring match, Alex caught the flash of something black and glossy out of the corner of his eye. _Michael?_ Alex thought, a strange and foreign feeling shifting through the back of his mind at the thought of getting to see the Archangel again, but there was nothing there when he stopped to scan the horizon; nothing to suggest that his eyes hadn’t just been playing tricks on him. _It must be the adrenaline from being chosen,_ he thought. _That would explain what I think I saw, not some over-sized stalking bird._ Still, there was a faint (and quickly smothered) hope in his chest that, as a new member of the Archangel Corps, he would have the opportunity to get to know a little bit more about Vega’s resident protector.

But fate and hope had never been kind to him and his.

The next time he saw Michael, it was at his first whipping.


	2. Chapter 2

A month into his new rotation as a member of the Archangel Corps Alex gets caught trying to steal extra ration cards. It’s an event he’s sure will make for a great story to tell in a bar a couple of years down the road but at the moment, well, he’s up shit creek without a paddle. He’s equal parts pissed off and disappointed, mostly in himself for getting caught by this glorified guard dog who probably didn’t know how to count above ten and who spends more time looking at dirty magazines than watching the ration lines. He used to be able to skim wallets from even the most alert V5’s and now he’s caught palming ration cards by a man whose first name is probably “Bubba”? It’s a fucking disgrace.

Now he’s sitting in a small and disused room, listening to the water drip from the pipes overhead into puddles on the concrete floor. The single bare bulb keeps flickering and the chair he’s sitting on has two legs shorter than the others, tilting him from side-to-side each time he shifts his weight. It’s an entire room designed for psychological warfare, but Alex has lived and slept in worse conditions than this.

 _Hell,_ he smiled, _this place looks like goddamn palace compared to where I was holed up before I met Ethan._

Oh man, poor Ethan, who had been standing behind him when Bubba’s hand had shot past the grated window and latched onto his wrist, startling him into dropping the extra cards. Who had tried to help out when Alex’s mind had gone traitorously blank at this sorry excuse for a soldier catching him in the act. _No, he wasn’t trying to take nothing, sir. He just has really sweaty palms – gross, I know – and sometimes things stick to them, you see?_ Who, after all of his stammering excuses had been ignored, had stared hopelessly as Officer Kadam had been called over and Alex had been frog-marched away in front of his entire unit.

Alex groaned, scrubbing his hands through his hair and riding out the chair’s accompanying tilt backwards. Worst case scenario: he got Purged back to a V1 and went back to living in the tunnels, not that he would last very long there with Carlos’ petty little vendetta against him still going strong. That meant that most of Low Town was closed to him, leaving only a couple of Red Zones – the parts of Vega so mired in gang warfare that few tunnel-rats would dare to venture there – as options.

 _I might last a week._ Alex grimaced, gaze tracing the cracks forming in the concrete walls. _Well, I guess the best case scenario is they believe Ethan’s story about my excessively sweaty palms and let me go after some good old corporal punishment._ However, being stuck in this room after what must have been hours more than likely meant that they didn’t buy that story and were trying to come up with an appropriate punishment. Right now, taking a whip seemed like the lesser of two evils when compared to his chances of surviving outside of the insular world of the barracks (a week in the Red Zone; approximately five minutes in Low Town once Carlos caught a whiff of him). _Having a bed and two meals a day has made me soft._

Time was impossible to determine in a space like this, but it must have been two or three more hours of Alex’s brain concocting increasingly grandiose and unrealistic plans for escape (all of which he subsequently shot down) before the only door to the tiny room swung open, Officer Kadam striding in. A severe looking man in his early forties, Kadam had built up an infamous reputation for having zero tolerance for anything or anyone he deemed incompetent and/or disrespectful. Unfortunately, this zero tolerance policy had included both Ethan and Alex since the second week of training after Ethan had attempted to prank Noma’s locker, unfortunately coinciding with one of Kadam’s surprise inspections. Although Alex had done no wrong in that particular situation, he seemed to have earned a spot on Kadam’s shit list solely by association.

“I wish I could say this was a surprise, Lannon, but I think we both knew you’d end up here eventually.” Kadam’s expression was smug as he tapped the long, black coil of the whip against his thigh. “I’m just amazed that Mac isn’t here to keep you company.”

“Well you know Ethan, never been a fan of dungeon chic.”

Kadam’s laugh was more menacing than humorous. “Give him some time and he’ll be in this exact same room. That’s the problem with letting V1’s enter the guard, you give some people a way out and all they wanna do is drag you down into the trash heap with them.”

 _Ah,_ Alex thought, _straight to the heart of the matter._ “Then what are we waiting for, sir? If you’re so sure I’m guilty then let’s start with the Purging. I have better things to do then sit here and listen to you pontificate about the evils of the tunnel-rat. Like, you know, figuring out where I’m going to be sleeping tonight.”

At that, Kadam’s smug look distinctly soured. “If it was up to me you’d be dumped back in the sewer so fast your fucking head would spin,” he gave a little sniff and ran his hands down the front of his uniform, smoothing out a wrinkle. “But it seems I’ve been _overruled._ ”

 _Overruled?_ Alex’s mind was working feverishly. _There’s only one person who can order Kadam around, but there’s no way he’d –_

The door creaked open again, the harsh exterior light of sunset creating a halo around the figure standing in the doorway. Momentarily blinded, Alex turned his head and blinked away the dots in his vision, giving the figure just enough time to cross the small room and take a place beside Kadam.

_Oh fuck, what is Michael doing here?_

Michael’s shoulders twitched and Alex saw _something_ flash across his face, an almost imperceptible reaction made all the more glaring by his quick return to a blankly serene expression.

“Holy shit, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Kadam looked like both his birthday and Savior’s Day had come early this year. “And now you’re insulting your superior officer. Just when I didn’t think you could sink any lower –“

“That’s enough, Kadam.” Michael’s voice was deep but surprisingly soft and strangely accented. _I guess I’ve never heard him speak before,_ Alex thought. It seemed that the news of Alex’s transgressions had caught the angel at a bad time, he was missing his trademark trenchcoat and dressed in only a tank top and a loose pair of pants. He had a slight sheen of sweat on his neck and the hairs at his nape curled haphazardly. _God, I hope he was just working out and not…_ Alex frowned, cutting the thought off quickly. The strange feeling that had been nesting in his head for a month crept forward again.

Kadam was sputtering in outrage. “But sir, he tried to steal ten ration cards-“

“Allegedly.”

“Excuse me?”

“He _allegedly_ tried to steal ten ration cards. Even Mr. Bobrovsky was unable to adequately ascertain Mr. Lannon’s motives. It’s also my understanding that our Mr. Mac has provided a plausible medical reason for why Mr. Lannon had so many cards in his possession. Palmar hyperhidrosis can be a very serious medical condition.”

  _All of this,_ Alex thought, _was worth it if only to get to see that look on Kadam’s face._ The distinguished corps leader resembled a preverbal deer-in-headlights. Kadam glanced from Michael, to Alex, and then back to Michael. “Then you’re suggesting he goes without punishment, sir?”

“Not at all.” It took every ounce of Alex’s willpower not to shiver under Michael’s trailing, dispassionate gaze. “I said that no adequate reason for stealing had been found. That does not mean he is not guilty of it nonetheless.”

 _Well, fuck._ Alex turned his gaze towards the chipped concrete at his feet, where one of the puddles flowed along a crack like a miniature river. Alex used the tip of his boot to create a dam.

“What would you suggest then, sir?”

“I think ten lashes should suffice.”

Kadam made a vaguely choking noise. “But the punishment for stealing is fifty lashes!”

“I am aware of protocol. Mr. Lannon is an _alleged_ thief who has not been proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt by evidence provided by Mr. Bobrovsky or other witnesses to the scene. As such, I believe that ten lashes should suffice as a deterrent to any future crimes should the chance remain that Mr. Lannon is, indeed, guilty.”

The resulting silence hung heavy in the room, its occupants barely seemed to breathe. Kadam cleared his throat, as if to dispel the tension. “And who will be administering the punishment, sir?”

“I believe that would be my responsibility. You are free to leave.”

“But, sir-“

“He is a member of my corps, Kadam. If you would be so kind as to hand me the whip and shut the door behind you.” Michael’s tone booked no argument but Kadam still paused, almost as if unable to help himself from wanting to argue. Like it was his god-given right to put a whip to Alex’s back after at least a month of wanting to do so. _He’d probably get off on it too,_ Alex grimaced. But in the end, Kadam simply snapped a sharp salute and walked away, slamming the heavy metal door behind him.

If Alex had thought Kadam leaving would somehow lighten the atmosphere, he was sorely disappointed. With the sudden loss of the emotional vacuum of Kadam’s seething hostility, the air now seemed charged with something else. Not disappointment or anger, but something that Alex honestly had no name for. Michael, who had been watching Kadam’s exit, turned his attention back to Alex.

“Mr. Lannon, do you understand why you are being punished today?” Was it Alex’s imagination or was Michael’s tone even softer than it had been a moment ago?

“Yes, sir.”

“And you have no objections?”

“No, sir.”

Michael’s head tilted, his expression turning contemplative. “Yet you insist that you are not guilty.”

“With all due respect, sir, would it even matter if I objected?” Alex was getting tired of the situation. _Why doesn’t he just whip me and get it over with? I just wanna find Ethan and then get some sleep._ He was supposed to hand out the extra ration cards tomorrow before his rotation. Without them, he would have to find another way of supplementing the meager cache of food he had been building for the other tunnel-rats.

Michael shifted his weight. “Of course it would matter. Why would you accept punishment for something you claim you did not do?”

“Because it doesn’t really matter whether or not you’ve actually done something. All that matters is whether or not the people in charge _think_ you’ve done something.”

“That makes no logical sense.”

Now Alex was getting aggravated, his tone turned sharp and cutting. “Well, it’s not like you’re human anyway, sir. You don’t actually have to live with the rules you’ve helped to establish.”

Michael stiffened at those words, his previously open expression and body language shutting down. _Shit, my very first conversation with an Archangel and I manage to piss him off._ Alex couldn’t help but shake his head weakly at his own stupidity. _What’s Noma always calling Ethan? ‘Stupid as an eight-ball’? Yeah, I think I finally understand that._

Michael began to uncoil the thick black leather whip from where it had been resting prone against his side. “If you would stand with your hands against the wall, Mr. Lannon.”

Alex stood up slowly, stretching his legs and feeling the distinctive pins and needles sensation that came from sitting in a chair for so many hours. He glanced around, picking the least moist looking wall and stopping about three feet from it, his hands coming up to rest against it slightly above his shoulders and with his feet spread apart. Alex listened to the _s_ i _hh_ sound as the tip of the rope slid across the floor.

“Ready, Mr. Lannon?”

Alex nodded.

There was an interesting moment of suspension, where the crack of the whip registered seconds before the pain set it. Lancing like fire across his upper-back, Alex fought not to hunch his shoulders. _Don’t give him a target!_ his old instincts were screaming. Living in the tunnels had made Alex no stranger to pain, but the heavy leather seemed to sear through his regulation t-shirt and jacket as if they weren’t even there. Even then, it took Alex a couple of lashes to realize that the strikes were not half as painful as he thought they would be, especially coming from a being who could easily break his leg with a pinkie finger. _He’s holding back._

Michael paused at lash number five, giving enough time for Alex to take in a couple of shaky but deep breaths before he started again. It was almost kind in a way, as much as a flogging could be considered ‘kind’. All Alex knew was that it would have been a hundred times worse if Kadam had been at his back (in more ways than one) and for a brief moment he allowed himself to be thankful that it was Michael.

When it was finally over Alex leaned his forehead against the cool cement wall, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth in an attempt to keep from shaking. His adrenaline and endorphins were battling it out and Alex’s brain had apparently taken this horribly inopportune moment to remember the one occasion he had been spanked by a past lover – and liked it. Now those memories were being overlaid with images of Michael, in his Nest (where nobody would be able to hear him beg) or in the barracks (where everyone _would_ hear them) _– and with the kind of control he had over his own strength, he could make it feel so good_ – and Alex pressed his cheek against the wall in the vain hope of fighting down the flush of arousal. _What the fuck am I doing, thinking of an angel like that?_ The taste of self-disgust lay heavy and bitter on his tongue.

The _shh-shh_ sound of the whip being coiled was the only sound at his back. Neither man moved for a few moments, allowing the deafening silence to settle naturally. It was almost comforting in a way, how neither felt the need to talk, although it was probably for very different reasons. Convinced his flush was under control, or could at least be attributed to physical exertion, Alex finally pushed his weight back and away from the wall. Unfortunately, somewhere in the miasma of Alex’s thoughts of being spread out over Michael’s knee, he had forgotten to ascertain the state of his legs. He felt his left knee give out from underneath him, pitching him awkwardly to the side. He was still too uncoordinated to bring his arms up, but just as he braced himself for impact the concrete floor was almost instantaneously replaced by a thick wall of feathers.

As his face brushed against the glossy black primaries he had just enough time to think _soft_ before it felt like someone had stuck a shotgun to his head and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depictions of a punishment by flogging turning into a punishment kink. This is why I shouldn't write things at seven o'clock in the morning.
> 
> I also wanted to thank everyone for the wonderful comments, bookmarks, and kudos! You guys are truly the inspiration and driving force behind this fic!


	3. Chapter 3

Alex awakens to the familiar but not necessarily comforting sounds of the infirmary. It’s not that difficult to figure out where he is, what with the muted sounds of bustling bodies and the gentle beeping of heart monitors singing a distinctive chorus. They all sound far away though, muffled, like Alex’s head and ears are filled with cotton. The clearest sounds he can make out, as per usual for his life, are two people bickering.

“I don’t like this one bit, Noma.” Ethan’s obviously trying hard to whisper, but Noma shushes him anyways.

“Well, we don’t really have a choice. It’s either this place or we try to carry his ass to that old woman -“

“Granny Rogers.”

“- that you won’t shut up about. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to have to explain to Kadam how someone practically in a comawalked out of a hospital and went AWOL!”

There’s a frustrated huff and the squeaking of a chair sliding across a floor. When he speaks again, Ethan’s tone has turned sullen. “It was just an idea. It’s not like we could really go there anyway.”

Noma sounds surprised. “What?”

“We can’t go back. Some…stuff happened before Alex and I left. It’s not safe for either of us in Low Town anymore.” They had never really talked about the catalyst behind Alex’s abrupt departure from the tunnels and his decision to join the guard. Alex had attempted to slip away one night only to trip across Ethan, sitting hunched in their doorway with a duffle across his back. _I’m leaving,_ Alex had whispered and Ethan said _I know. I’m coming with you,_ and that had been it. Now Alex could hear the strains of sorrow in Ethan’s voice.

“What kind of stuff?” Noma’s voice was soft, though whether from the choice of topic or the desire not to be overheard, Alex didn’t know.

“The tunnels and Low Town are pretty much run by this one guy, Carlos, and his merry little band of sadists.” Ethan practically spat the name out, like just speaking it left a bad taste. “So long as you keep on his good side or stay outta his way, you’re golden. It was my job to keep an ear out for what Carlos was up to so I could keep all of us out of trouble.”

“You and Alex?”

Ethan laughed. “Naw, we had an entire pack of tunnel-rats. Maybe thirty or forty kids all together. When you’re raised in the tunnels you learn pretty quickly that there’s safety in numbers, what with all the gangs and pimps and shit. Keep to a group and at least somebody will notice and kick up a fuss if you go missing.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s just the way it is down there. Not all of us were lucky enough to be born a V2, Noma.” Ethan paused for a moment, like he needed to collect his thoughts. “So I kept tabs on Carlos and Alex tried to keep the younger kids fed and outta trouble and things were actually pretty good. But then these rumors started floating around that Carlos had something to do with kids disappearing around Low Town – none from our little group, but still – and I made the mistake of telling Alex about it.”

Alex could practically hear Noma’s wince. “And how did he take it?”

Ethan’s laugh was bitter. “How do you think? He went around collecting all the kids he could, like they were stray kittens, and warning any of ‘em that didn’t want to come with him to stay away from Carlos. Told ‘em that any money Carlos offered them, Alex would pay them double that to not take the job. He fucking did it, too. Begged, borrowed, and stole, but he did it.”

“Did Carlos find out?”

“Yeah, eventually, but before he could do anything about it there were these explosions all across Low Town. I think the General told everyone it was a gas line explosion or some crock like that, but we all knew it was a vigilante. Someone with a good set of wiring skills and access to some primo military-grade explosives. Most of the bombs took out Carlos’ warehouses and they even found one in his house.” Ethan’s tone turned grim. “I wish the motherfucker _had_ gotten himself blown up, ‘cause when all was said and done there was only one person in the tunnels that he knew would dare to stand up to him.”

Noma drew in a sharp breath between her teeth. “He blamed Alex?”

“Yep. So he started sending his guys to try to flush us out, even took a couple of the kids hostage and claimed he would let ‘em go if Alex came to him willingly. Granny Rogers was this crazy old lady who used to keep an eye on the youngest ones and bandage us up when things got rough. When she heard that Alex was getting ready to turn himself in she knocked upside the head and told him to get out of Low Town. We left the next day.”

There was silence for a long time, enough that Alex could feel himself slipping back to sleep, before Noma finally spoke. “So that’s why he tried stealing the ration cards? Because of the kids?”

Ethan’s tone was inscrutable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Noma laughed at him. “I’m not judging, just saying. I wondered why he thought grabbing a handful of ration cards was a good idea but desperate times, eh? He leaves behind a whole group of kids he was in charge of protecting and now he thinks he has to help in _some_ way. The corps’ ration cards must fetch a pretty penny in a place like Low Town.”

“I imagine they would.”

“Ah,” Noma said, sounding pleased with herself.

 _Wait a minute,_ Alex thought, fighting his way back from the brink of unconsciousness. “You have no proof.” The words were badly garbled, but still audible. There was a split second of surprised silence before Noma and Ethan began to talk over each other.

“Oh my god, you’re still alive -“

“Something’s happened, Alex -“

“- Noma has been picking on me so badly -“

“- grow up, Mac! I need you to wake up, Alex -”

“- and now you’re being stalked by an angel, man!”

“- some weird shit is going on here!”

Alex groaned, raising his hand in their general direction. “Just give me a minute, jeez.” His mouth tasted like metal and his eyes didn’t seem to want to open; he raised his hands and clawed at the dried rheum crusting them shut. “Ugh. What the hell?”

Under the blinding lights Ethan’s smile was a blurry but welcome sight. “Well, that’s what you get for sleeping for a week.”

Alex literally felt his heart skip a beat and the heart monitor next to his head gave a squall in protest. “What?” _That’s not possible. I tried to grab the cards and then Michael was there and then I fell down –_

“Yeah, man,” Noma’s eyes were wet. “You’ve been out cold. The doctors couldn’t seem to figure out a reason why, though.”

Alex struggled to sit up, hissing when pain flared up his left side. “Why do I feel like I’ve been hit by a Humvee? What happened after I left?”

Ethan grabbed a couple of pillows that were stacked on a little cot beside Alex’s bed and helped slip them behind his back. _Have they been sleeping in here with me?_

“After you left where, bud? Don’t you remember the great ration line fiasco?” Ethan began to rearrange the pillows, trying to prop Alex up.

“Of course I remember,” Alex groaned. “I’ll probably remember that clusterfuck until the day I die. I meant after that, when I left the holding cell. After Michael was done? Oh man, don’t tell me I walked out in front of a truck in front of everyone!”

“Um,” Ethan’s pillow-fidgeting turned distinctly nervous while Noma seemed intent on committing the pattern of Alex’s blanket to memory. “Not exactly, dude. I mean, some people saw something but nothing as bad as that, I swear.”

Alex grabbed the front of Ethan’s shirt, wadding the fabric up in his hand and forcing him to bend down to his eye-level. “Ethan, you know you give me a headache when you talk like that. So just tell me what,” Alex gave him a little shake. “happened?”

Ethan seemed to look everywhere but into Alex’s eyes. “You didn’t leave the room. I mean, you _did_ , but it was on a stretcher. Later. After you’d collapsed.”

Alex let his arm drop back to the bed and Ethan scrambled to get out of his reach. “Why did I collapse? The whipping wasn’t that bad, hell, Granny Rogers used to hit us worse than that for back talking!” He raised his hands to scratch at the scruff a week without shaving had left him with when he noticed the state of his left arm. It was completely bandaged from his fingers to – he lifted up the neck of his gown –his shoulder. The worst of the throbbing pain he felt seemed to emanate from underneath a giant mass of gauze padding. “And how the hell did this happen?”

“Michael.” Noma’s voice was calm, but Alex saw the look she shot Ethan. “His wings.”

“What does his wings have anything to with-“ The word _soft_ drifted through Alex’s thoughts and he closed his eyes. “Well, fuck me.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what happened in the holding cell that made you pass out like that, but I can tell you that there was a shit-ton of chaos after they opened that door up.”

“Wait,” Alex opened his eyes. “you were there?”

Noma grinned. “I was just rotating off duty from House Whele when Ethan told me they had taken you to one of the cells. I happened to have a little personal paperwork that needed to be turned in, but one of the bookkeepers told me I needed my superior officer’s authorization. Luckily enough, I had an idea of just where he’d be.”

Alex let out a surprised bark of laughter. “You two are some sneaky sons of bitches. I knew there was a reason I liked you!” Noma fairly preened, even allowing Ethan to slap her on the back. “So what’d you see while you were spying?”

Noma’s face collapsed, leaving no trace of the happiness of a few seconds ago. Alex almost felt bad for even asking. “I got there and Kadam was outside, stomping around and screaming at some of the guard trainees. I figured Michael must’ve kicked him out so I decided to wait around until you were released. Those cells are designed to be pretty soundproof, but god Alex, I could hear Michael yell out your name like he was standing right next to me.” She settled a shaking hand on Alex’s leg, grounding herself. “Kadam yelled at the guards to open the door and when we rushed in, Michael had his wings out. You were laying on the left one, out cold from what I could see, and Michael couldn’t seem to bend the wing enough to pull you off of it. It was like he didn’t even hear us coming in.” She paused and glanced towards Ethan, seated on the edge of the cot.

 _She’s already told this story before,_ Alex thought. “Then what happened? Did he just flick me off of it?” _The wing is the most powerful part of an angel. He could’ve easily done it._

Noma squeezed his knee and shook her head. “No. No, he wouldn’t do that. I could tell he wasn’t paying any attention to us but Kadam just blundered right up to him. I think he startled Michael, because his wings just _sharpened_ somehow. Like, one second they were all fluffy and looked like regular feathers and then the next second they looked like they were made out of shards of glass. They tore you to shreds.”

Ethan rocked forward on his perch. “Trust me, man, I’ve seen your shoulder under those bandages. It looks like ground hamburger meat.”

“You have some pretty deep lacerations along your left side, too. A couple on your head from where it was resting on the wing, but those only needed a few stitches.” Noma seized his wrist when he tried to lift his hand to feel them. “What is it with guys and picking at scabs? Let it heal.”

Alex dropped his head back against the pillows. “Fine, fine. So Michael slices and dices me and then what happened?”

Noma set his captured hand back down with an easy grace, an action that showed she had done it quite often during the previous week. She cleared her throat and Alex could see that her eyes were wet again. “You didn’t make a sound. It only took a second for Michael to realize what he’d done, but it was already too late. Blood just started _pouring_ _out_ from underneath you. He started yelling and we managed to grab you and pull you onto the ground. When I flipped you over, god, your entire side was torn open. Your body actually left an impression in blood on his wing and when Michael saw it he made this _noise-_ “

“What, a laugh?” Alex knew it was a rude thing to say but this, whatever this situation was, was too much for him to process right now. The _thing_ that had been inside of his head for a month that kept to the very shadows of his thoughts began creeping towards the front. It seemed so much bigger now - like it had grown. _What the fuck is happening to me?_

Noma looked furious. “No, he didn’t _laugh._ He was staring at you like he thought he had _killed you! I thought he had killed you!”_

Alex flinched. “I’m sorry, Noms. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Noma stared down at the floor, crossing her arms and hunching her shoulders. “No, I shouldn’t have. But I did see it and it’s cruel to try to joke about it.”

Ethan hopped off of the cot, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “Oh come on, you know that’s just the way Alex deals with shit.”

If anything, this seemed to make Noma angrier. At her glare, Ethan put his hands up and backed away. “I don’t _care_ if it’s his fucking coping method. You weren’t there when I thought he was going to bleed out!” She turned to Alex. “And you shouldn’t say that about Michael. He’s pretty torn up about what happened.”

Alex snorted. “I’m sure he’s fine, Noma. Probably just upset I got blood on his pretty feathers.”

Noma’s gaze turned piercing. “Then why has he been in here every night?”

Alex’s thoughts ground to a screeching halt. “Excuse me? I think I might’ve heard you wrong.”

“Nah, man. You heard her right.” Ethan was picking at a loose thread at the edge of the cot’s blanket, face turned away from Alex’s gaze. “Me and Noms have been trading off sleeping here and waiting for you to wake up. We didn’t want you to be alone, but there’s an hour overlap between our rotations.”

“And I started noticing a really distinctive smell when I finally got here from my shift. I didn’t think anything of it, figured Ethan had stolen a different type of cologne or something, but it was a little too strong to be over an hour old.” Noma’s smile turned smug. “A couple of days ago I had to speak to Kadam and he was with Michael. He walked by me when he was leaving and it was that same smell, Alex. It’s Michael, I’m sure of it.”

“But,” Alex closed his eyes tightly, as if he could block out what she’d said. _I don’t understand what’s happening anymore._ “But why would he-?”

Ethan gave a little laugh and patted his hand, careful to avoid the IVs. “Like I said, you’re being stalked by an angel.”

Alex tore his hand away. “That’s not funny,” he snapped and both Noma and Ethan gave a little jump. “He’s an _angel,_ he doesn’t _care.”_ That _thing_ in his head was writhing around; twisting and turning like it was in pain. “He doesn’t have the _ability_ to care.” He was breathing too fast, the wounds across his rib cage protesting.

Noma stared at him with sad eyes and seemed to choose her next words carefully. “You can believe what you want, Alex. I’m just telling you what I saw.” The watch around her wrist gave a faint beep and she turned it off without looking at it. “I’m happy you woke up today, both Ethan and I are on duty tonight. It’s an easy rotation – House Thorn – so just let one of the nurses know if you need us and one of us should be able to slip away for a bit.” She reached behind his head and disconnected a thin plastic device from the wall, placing it beside his head. “If you need a nurse, just push this button and one of them will come check on you.”

Alex chuckled, picking the device up and turning it over in his hand. “When did they install these in the infirmary? Did they get tired of us yelling every time we needed something?”

Noma just gave him a careful hug and a peck on the cheek. Ethan patted Alex on the head like he was a particularly slow puppy and, when Alex tried swatting him away, gave an obnoxious snort. “Nah, bro, this sure as hell ain’t the infirmary. You’re in a private room in the Lady Clementine ward.” With a wink and a wave, they were out the door.

Alex must’ve resembled a fish. The Lady Clementine ward. The same ward that would only admit V5s and V6s? _What the fuck is going on?_

With Noma and Ethan gone, Alex finally took in his surroundings ( _sloppy soldiers get killed,_ he could practically feelhis old drill instructor’s disappointed gaze) and the sheer opulence of the room should’ve caught his attention a lot sooner. Compared to the tight quarters and field hospital set up of the infirmary, this room was a mansion unto itself. The bed he was in was a standard medical bed, but there were two plush lounge chairs on the far side of the room. There was a large wardrobe and a side table made from a dark wood, while the floors fairly shined in the overhead light from the _fuck me sideways, is that a chandelier?_ Even the little cot beside him was made from better material than his bunk in the barracks. _This is it,_ Alex decided. _I have officially gone crazy. This is all just a figment of my fevered imagination._

It took a very, _very_ long time for his eyes to close again.

 

*

 

Maybe it was because he had just slept for a week straight, or maybe it was Noma’s words about his nighttime visitor that caused Alex to awaken at the first creak of his window opening. _Don’t move, just keep breathing,_ he thought, _slow and even._ It wasn’t too much of a struggle to fake sleep, muscle memory from the times he had laid in wait for whatever asshole of the month was trying to steal from their little group. Pretend to be asleep, wait for the thief to get bold, then take him or her down. Life in the tunnels made everyone skittish and most were able to tell when someone was faking, so he’d been forced to get pretty good at it.

The leather of the lounge chair closest to the window gave a little squeak as weight was pressed down into it and then there was silence again. _What? No looming?_ Alex thought. _Where’s the fun in breaking into someone’s room while they’re sleeping if there’s no looming?_

He was just about to say as much when something strange happened. The _thing_ in his head that had finally calmed down and retreated to the back of his mind after Noma and Ethan left seemed to wake up again _._ He had been able to ignore it with his friends as a distraction, but here in the silence he could feel it _moving_ through his head, like it was searching for something. _Is this a possession?_ Alex’s thoughts took on a hysterical edge. _Why hasn’t it tried taking over?_ He gave the _thing_ a little mental prod, wondering if he could agitate it into revealing itself, but it seemed to ignore him as it searched. _When did I first feel it?_ Alex strained to remember. _I guess it was after I first saw Michael._ He could picture that day so clearly, the sweaty hushed nervousness of the guards and the envelop of calm that seemed to surround the Archangel. The way his lashes had looked against his cheeks and the set of his shoulders as he had walked away and –

The _thing_ , whatever the fuck it was, _latched_ onto the memory like it was trying to hold it into place. But even as it held on Alex could feel it reaching out and out and out and finding _nothing_ –

He came up off of the bed with a scream, felt stitches popping and wounds reopening but he didn’t care _he didn’t fucking care –_

_What’s happening to me?_

He felt the displacement of air a second before a pair of cool hands grabbed his arms, trying to force him back down onto the bed. After a brief struggle the hands finally let him go and Alex leaned forward, bowing his head to fight off the waves of dizziness that came from laying prone for so long. When the nausea finally passed he realized that a hand was resting lightly on his back, like his nighttime visitor was unsure whether his touch would be welcome or not. _Goddamn it,_ Alex raised a shaking hand to cover his eyes. _Noma was right._

When he finally lifted his head he found Michael just as beautiful and unexpressive as usual. There wasn’t a hair or a piece of clothing out of place; nothing Alex could find to show the emotional ordeal he had allegedly been through. _It’s not fair,_ Alex thought _. I probably look like shit and he’s standing here like something out of one of those old fashion magazines Bixby loves so much._ Alex didn’t expect him to still be wearing his sweaty and disarrayed clothing from that day _,_ but _c’mon, give a guy a break._

Alex’s blank stare and continued silence seemed to finally evoke a reaction out of Michael. Gently removing his hand from Alex’s back, he furrowed his brows and tilted his head to try to catch his eye. “Alex?”

At the soft sound of his voice the _thing_ inside of Alex’s head gave a little shiver. Alex closed his eyes, feeling nauseous as the pieces finally came together. From the second it had first appeared this _thing_ seemed to feed off of his thoughts and interactions with Michael. Whatever it turned out to be, it was intrinsically connected to the Archangel. Alex drew in a deep breath and finally met Michael’s gaze.

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that General Riesen would dedicate something to Clementine's memory, even if it's only for Claire's sake. Also, I've decided to forgo any Alex/Noma romantic subplots. I love the idea of Ethan, Alex, and Noma being the best of bros and getting into trouble together and I think keeping with canon would mess that dynamic up. I will, however, be keeping in canon with what was revealed about Noma's character in the episode "Ouroboros" because I honestly loved it so much. I don't want to spoil those of you who haven't gotten a chance to watch it yet, but it's pretty fucking awesome.
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for your bookmarks, kudos, and comments! They mean the world to me!


	4. Chapter 4

When Alex was young, he used to dream of strange things. Golden lights and the whisper of wings; peace and great wars and the boiling of endless oceans. It was always nonsensical and fragmented and nothing like the dreams of flying or being heroes that the other boys often talked about. But it wasn’t until he awoke screaming one night, his mother’s dead eyes and the thrum of _victory_ still rushing through his veins, that he first realized that there was something not quite _right_ about these visions. Jeep had been mobile in an instant, gun up and safety off, scanning the walls and ceiling for intruders of the human or angelic variety before he finally looked down at Alex. _Just a bad dream,_ Alex said and watched as Jeep’s shoulders slumped forward, his bloodshot eyes closing briefly as he tried to get his breathing back under control. _You sure, kiddo?_ he asked and, at Alex’s nod and whispered apology, staggered back towards his own bed as the adrenaline rush left him.

Alex stared at the ceiling and tried desperately to hold on to the images that were already beginning to fade away. He remembered seeing miles upon miles of white sand, so bright in the desert sun that it was almost blinding, and the deep rusty red of the blood that saturated the barren wastes. There were great pools of it pockmarking the landscape and although he could see no bodies the groans of the dying rang out in his ears. He had begun walking towards the sounds, desperate to help and morbidly curious, when he tripped and fell over something buried in the dune.

It was his mother.

There was only one picture of Charlie that Alex knew of, a small wallet-sized cutout that Jeep revered and guarded jealously, even from his own son. His father had shown it to him when he was younger, curious about the mother who had fought so hard and died so young protecting him, and this jealously had hurt. As Alex grew older he told himself that these feelings were natural, that his mother had meant everything to Jeep and Alex - aside from being her child - knew next to nothing about the woman. He would’ve enjoyed learning more, but the residual pain he saw in his father’s eyes when he dared to ask brought this curiosity to a screeching and guilt-ridden halt. Still, one of his clearest memories of that photo was the piercing blue of Charlie’s eyes, the same eyes he stared into when he looked in a mirror and the same eyes he was looking into now.

His mother was sprawled on her side, her head pillowed on her right arm while the sands of the dunes encased the majority of her naked body. Her long blond hair spilled over her shoulder and across the ground, shining like spun gold in the harsh desert rays. Alex sobbed, a deep and heaving exhale that made his stomach clench and his vision spin. He scrambled back upright and took two steps back, reaching out a shaking hand only to take another step away. As he watched in increasing horror, golden sand began pouring out of her open mouth in waves and her eyes were vacant and Alex knew she was _dead dead dead_ but then her gaze seemed to _focus_ on him and –

There was someone cradling him to their chest. It was a heat and a presence that Alex could feel through the thin shirt he wore, but when he tried to turn towards it there was only a bright golden light, forcing him to close his weeping eyes or be rendered blind. He forced himself to turn back towards his mother and found her still staring at him, the sand that poured from her mouth now wet and congealed with blood. Alex waited for the rush of horror to wash over him again but there was nothing in his mind except a deeply-seated sense of pleasure, of doing a job _right_.

He screamed.

 

*

 

Any other time Alex might’ve considered himself privileged to be one of the only humans to ever knock an Archangel off its guard, but right now he was just a little preoccupied with this _thing_ slithering through his brain and the way it was attached to said Archangel to care very much. Michael’s face seemed to be having trouble settling on one expression – switching rapidly from confusion to worry and back again – but he remained ethereally beautiful, even with his brow furrowed and his lips puckered. It made Alex hate him just a little bit more.

After a moment Michael cleared his throat, his tone level and placating. “Sergeant Lannon, you were brought to an interrogation room because you were accused of stealing-“

“Yeah, yeah I remember all that.” Alex interrupted, finally forcing himself to sit at attention. It was hell on his stitches, but worth it to no longer have the angel hovering over him. “And I know all about you turning my shoulder into a chuck roast. I’m talking about what’s been going on in my head because of you.”

Michael slid off of the edge of the bed, his graceful movements belying the aura of confusion that was coming off of him in waves. “I’m sorry, Sergeant, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was beginning to feel like Alex’s stomach was trying to climb up through his throat; his heart monitor squawked a sharp warning. “Like hell you don’t. Don’t play dumb with me, angel, this _thing_ has been going on since I first saw you-!”

Michael drew himself up to his full height, his lithe figure towering over Alex’s seated and now hunched form. His bewildered face had become expressionless, like a switch had been thrown, but his voice was thunderous. “I am not just _any_ angel, Mr. Lannon, and I would caution you to remember that.” He scoffed. “I must admit that I felt some sense of obligation to check on your progress as your injuries happened on my watch, but I realize now that I was mistaken in doing so.” Turning, he stalked back towards the fluttering curtains of the window, leaving Alex sputtering in rage behind him.

“Don’t you walk away from me! Whatever you did to me, fix it. I ain’t going through life with this fucking thing hitchhiking in my brain!” Michael had one long leg braced on the sill, his body already twisting to step out. Alex could feel his desperation growing. “Please, just fix it! I’ll do anything you want, just – _please_!”

Michael finally stilled, his silhouette illuminated by the few lights of Vega that reached to the top floor of the ward. “What do you mean _hitchhiking_?” His tone was curious.

Alex chewed at his lower lip, ragged and dirty fingernails catching on the fabric of the sheets as they fisted the material. “This thing that’s swimmin’ around in my head. I want it gone.”

As Michael stepped down off of the sill the warm night air outside carried the faintest hints of his scent back towards Alex. He smelled like pomegranates and cedar, a somewhat feminine scent if it hadn’t been for the hint of male musk; the smell of clean sweat and a scent that oddly enough reminded Alex of feathers. _I probably caught a whiff of them when I was being eviscerated._ Which, okay, may have been an exaggeration but Alex had no time to play “What Cologne Does The Angel Wear?”, even if it _did_ make the _thing_ inside of his head calm down for five fucking minutes. When Alex finally opened eyes he hadn’t known had closed, Michael had already made his way to the far side of Nora and Ethan’s cot. The distance between them seemed simultaneously too close and yet too far away. Alex shook himself.

“Did it happen again?” Michael took another step forward but stopped when Alex shook his head.

“It’s being relatively good right now.”

Michael’s face contorted into a moue of distaste. “You assigned it a personality? I would not think _you_ of all people would take kindly to a possessive spirit.”

Alex frowned. Something about the Archangel’s words seemed off _._ “First of all, what do you mean by that? You don’t know anything about me, and secondly, it doesn’t really feel like how they typically describe possessions.”

Michael seemed to be staring at something in the vicinity of Alex’s left shoulder. “That is not our concern right now. What matters most is seeing which angel has decided to make you it’s host and then we will know what exorcism will be required.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to argue, to say _there are no exorcisms for angel possessions,_ but whatever energy had been bolstering Alex this long was fading fast. At the very least Michael might be able to get a read on who, or what, was swimming around in Alex’s head. _Here’s to hoping it’s not someone he’s really angry at,_ Alex laughed. Michael was standing at the edge of the bed and pulling one leg up to kneel on top of the blankets. It was a mimicry of the position he had been in when all of this had started, but now Alex was aware of the rush of warmth that spread down his spine at the Archangel’s proximity.

This warmth was quickly replaced with unease as Michael’s body froze, his pale face suddenly becoming devoid of all emotion. Long black lashes framed eyes that had, up until this moment, been bright and blue. Fascinated, he watched as the black of the pupils slowly spread until it overtook everything leaving only a thin trace of blue surrounding it. Alex felt like he was falling forward, towards the tiny starbursts he could see igniting behind Michael’s eyes. It took far too long for him to realize that Michael was chanting softly in some kind of language ( _Enochian?_ a small part of his mind wondered) and the longer the chanting went on the less human Michael’s eyes seemed to remain. Alex couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away but he could feel the electricity that had started to dance around them and the sharp smell of ozone was quickly becoming overwhelming in the small room. The heart monitor was caterwauling an arrhythmic tune, but Alex didn’t know if it was from his own rapid heartbeat or if it was somehow being affected by the strange power that Michael was wielding.

Alex felt a foreign pressure in his mind, like someone was knocking around it but was unable to find a way in. The pressure kept increasing, quickly becoming unbearable, until Michael slowly and gently slipped his hand up to cup Alex’s jaw. As if the physical touch had been the key, Alex could feel Michael slip into his mind; a luminescent and scalding presence. Everything he touched seemed to burn no matter how hard he tried to move gently through what was no doubt a disorganized mess. If the angel had any worries about having to try to find the intruder in Alex’s head, they didn’t last long. Like a puppy whose master had just come home or, Alex thought, like lovers finally being reunited, the _thing_ in his head barreled into and quickly attached itself to Michael’s essence. The _thing_ twisted and twined and seemed to try to wrap itself around Michael and Alex could feel the echoing feelings of _horror_ and _panic_ that seemed to be coming from the normally unflappable Archangel. And then Michael was pulling _back back back,_ retreating from Alex’s mind at a speed that left him feeling disoriented, like Michael’s presence had already become an important fixture in his head.

When Alex finally came back to himself his eyes were dry and sore from staring into Michael’s for so long. He rubbed them vigorously, trying to get rid of the painful burning sensation. It had been late when Noma and Ethan had left for their rotations and even later than that when Michael had snuck into his room, but Alex was still surprised to see the first blurry rays of morning breaking along the horizon. What had felt like only moments in his head had been hours out in the world andAlex clutched his head with both hands and vowed to never let Ethan know anything about this little misadventure. He couldn’t tell what his friend would be more fascinated with, the telepathic tête-à-tête he had just had with an Archangel or the time continuity issues that had resulted.

It didn’t really matter though. Whatever Michael had been attempting to do, the _thing_ was still nestled deep inside of Alex’s mind, albeit behaving itself for the first time since he had been in that interrogation room. Even though he hadn’t really believed the Archangel could do anything to fix it, he still felt a wave of desolation settle over him. _If this really is a possession, there’s no coming back from it._ Alex gave himself a breathless moment to try to come to terms with that revelation and then buried the resulting feelings deep. Contrary to Ethan and Noma’s claims, Jeep _had_ raised him with _some_ manners and Michael deserved, at the very least, a thank you for his attempt to help with the situation. Feeling sufficiently bolstered, Alex dropped his hands and opened his mouth and –

Michael was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School has started up for me again, but I still plan on writing (at least) a chapter a month from now on. Please know that I appreciate every one of the bookmarks, kudos, and comments that you guys leave and I hope this chapter lived up to the wait!


	5. Chapter 5

It took another two weeks for the doctors in the ward to finally discharge Alex, leaving him with nothing but stern instructions for physical therapy exercises and a pair of slip-resistant socks as consolation prizes. The mid-morning sun was already scorching hot and the sudden burst of dry heat sucked Alex’s breath from his lungs. The Lady Clementine ward had its own forced air system, unlike the vast majority of Vega who had to open their windows wide and pray for a stray breeze. It was almost comforting to return to the heat and the background hum of traffic after being cooped up for almost a month (one week of which he’d spent unconscious, but still) and Alex welcomed the return to normalcy.

Anything to take his mind off of what had happened.

“Yo, earth to Alex.”

Alex turned to see Ethan watching him with a pinched expression. “Yeah?”

“You okay, dude? You seem kinda out of it.”

Alex fidgeted, readjusting the sling holding his left arm back into place. “Just thought I’d give you some time to finish flirting with that physical therapist.”

“ _Dude,”_ Ethan laughed, carefully slinging his arm over Alex’s shoulders. “Did you see the ass on that man?”

Alex waved his hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture, much to Ethan’s indignation, and laughed. “You just have poor taste, my friend.”

“Poor taste? _Poor taste_?” Ethan cried. “Just wait until we get back to the barracks, Noma will totally back me up on this one. We have a friendly little wager going over which way he swings.”

“And if he’s bi?”

Ethan paused. “Would that mean that we both lose or that we both win? I cannot owe that woman any more money, Alex. I’m already a couple of hundred down and she’s more vicious than a Low Town loan shark!”

Alex’s surprised laughter was entirely at his friend’s expense and pulled at the still-healing wounds on his side, but it felt good; right.

Maybe things could finally start getting back to normal.

*

Things were going terribly.

Alex’s warm welcome back to the barracks by his comrades had lasted approximately ten seconds before Kadam burst in, barking orders and sending everyone scrambling back to their assigned jobs.

“He’s been on the warpath since you’ve been gone,” Ethan muttered, bringing his hand up to cover the words behind a quick cough. Alex shook his head and started making his way down the aisles towards his bunk.

“Where do you think you’re going, Lannon?” The squeak of polished boots seemed to echo in Alex’s aching head.

Alex turned, coming to attention and trying not to wince as the change in posture pulled at his wounds. “To my bunk, sir. I was told to rest today before I start light duty tomorrow.”

Kadam sneered, tapping his pen against a copy of the roster. “Really? Because I seem to have you down for a shift at House Riesen beginning in an hour.”

Alex tensed. He could see Ethan’s outraged expression and shook his head slightly, begging him to stay out of it. Ethan’s expression turned mulish but he stayed in place. “With all due respect, I think there might have been a mistake, sir. I was told that I would be assigned light duty.” _Not have to stand at attention for ten hours in the General’s mansion._

“Where you told this by a superior officer?”

“Well not directly, but the doctors said –“

Kadam’s smile was triumphant. “If you weren’t officially relieved from your duties by a superior officer, then you’re expected to fulfill them, Lieutenant.” He craned his neck from side to side, making an exaggerated show of glancing around the nearly empty room. “Now, where could we find a superior officer, hmm?”

Alex gritted his teeth. The long walk back to the barracks in the blistering heat had only helped to exacerbate the low-level migraine he had been dealing with for nigh on a month. Alex so badly wanted to punch this man in his stupid fucking face. He so badly wanted to punch _Michael_ in his stupid fucking face. He wanted, just once, for someone other than himself to _hurt_.

He drew in a deep breath. “You’re right, sir. I apologize. I’ll report to House Riesen at the designated time.”

Kadam’s expression was frozen somewhere between disappointment that Alex hadn’t resorted to begging him for light duty and outrage. He paused for a moment and then, unable to find anything belligerent about either Alex’s words or his attitude, snarled out a _see that you do_ and left the room as abruptly as he’d come in.

Ethan was beginning to sputter indignantly at the closed doors when Alex left him to continue on his journey to their bunk. Finally, in the relative privacy of the nearly-deserted room and in the comfort of his own bed, Alex let himself feel the weight of the past couple of months; the whirlwind of being picked for the corps and the subsequent humiliation of being caught stealing and then what happened with Michael -

He stared at the bottom of Ethan’s bunk; the _thing_ wascurrently buried deep, deep inside his brain. He had finally stopped worrying at it like a child with a loose tooth, but that didn’t stop whatever it was from making its presence known from time to time. Usually when he was thinking about what had happened with Michael which, to be completely honest, he had been doing little else these past couple of weeks. Well-worn confusion welled up before Alex could stuff it back down – _he left, why did he leave like that? –_ the circular thoughts always making the _thing_ writhe, like it could sense the resentment that now tainted the memories. _Was what he saw in my head so…disgusting to him?_

But no, he knew for a fact that the Archangel entertained both women _and_ men up in that nest of his, so it couldn’t be Alex’s sexuality that he had a problem with, but maybe –

Alex froze.

But maybe he had seen some of the things Alex had done in order to survive in the tunnels - in order to care for the other tunnel rats or for ration cards or simply for a place to sleep for the night. The things he had let other people do _to_ him.

_And maybe he doesn’t want someone like that in his corps._

“Alex?”

Alex startled violently, wincing and grabbing at his sling when his arm ached in protest. Ethan was sitting across from him on McDell’s bunk, mussing up his regulation-tucked sheets. He was wringing his hands together, a worried expression highlighting the tense lines on his face. “I’ve been talking to you, but it’s like you’re in your own little world.”

Alex winced again, although this time for an entirely different reason. He knew that Noma and Ethan were worried about his behavior recently – the worried furrows permanently etched into sweet, affable Ethan’s face was proof enough of that – but there wasn’t much he could do to reassure them. Not when he still felt so _wrong_ inside _._ He shook the thoughts away. “Sorry about that. What were you saying?”

Ethan shook his head. “It’s not that important.”

“No, really –“

“It’s not important.” Ethan said firmly, standing up and moving towards the lockers. “Take a nap. I’ll wake you up before shift rotation.”

Alex watched him go and then, sighing, pressed his face into his pillow and closed his eyes.

*

Alex ends up sleeping like the (nearly) dead and Ethan wakes him up just in time to change into his uniform, ditch the sling, and high-tail it to report. He still looks like he’s been hit by a truck, body covered in yellow-green bruises and healing lacerations and smelling like antiseptic and bleach from the hospital, but Noma hugs him like she hasn’t seen him in years. He gingerly returns it to the best of his abilities while Ethan hovers nearby, fidgeting and muttering _softer, Noma_ and _watch the arm!_

Noma finally pulls away, sharing an amused look with Alex. “Stop clucking, Mac. He’s not made out of china.”

Alex grins back. “But I’m a delicate flower, Noms.”

Noma laughs, reaching out to slap Alex’s right arm (completely ignoring Ethan’s squawk) and uses it to pull him along the marble and glass-lined hallway. “Well then, Buttercup, let’s see if we can’t get you an easy post!”

It takes some cajoling (Alex) and some bribing (Ethan isn’t going to have any pudding for _weeks)_ and some threats (entirely on Noma’s end), before Alex gets stationed at the entrance to the General’s home office. Surprisingly, on days when the Council isn’t in session and the General is otherwise occupied, the whole area is pretty much deserted. It’s a couple of hours into his shift before Alex sighs and finally lets some of his weight rest back against the cool marble wall. The aching in his head that had all but disappeared with his nap is now coming back with a vengeance, the pain in his left arm is quickly becoming unbearable, and he’s just so damned _tired_. It seems like all he ever wants to do now is sleep, but never wakes up feeling any better than he did before he’d slept. The doctors had assured him that this was all a part of the healing process, his body using the time and the energy during sleep to heal, but something still seemed _off_ about it…

The General’s office is situated at the end of a long and enclosed corridor, all the better to defend it – and him – against an attack should the need ever arise. All this means is that, when Michael and General Riesen turn the corner down the long hallway, their long strides quickly eating up the distance, Alex feels himself freeze into place. He hadn’t heard the tell-tale thud of footsteps – too lost in his own thoughts – and now it’s too late.

The General’s still talking but Michael’s focus has zeroed-in on Alex. There’s a slight tightening around his eyes and he looks almost…startled?...or as least as startled as an automaton Archangel canlook. It’s the first time Alex has seen him since that disastrous night spent together in his hospital bed. The _thing_ in his head, on its best behavior for so long, suddenly begins to _ache_ and Alex can’t help flinching in response; reaching out a hand to try to steady himself against the wall. There’s the distinctive sound of feathers unfurling, a sound he didn’t even know he had come to recognize, and then a broad hand wraps itself around the bicep of his left arm.

Alex can’t stop the whimper of pain when the still-healing flesh throbs at this mistreatment. Michael drops his hand immediately, although he doesn’t move from Alex’s side. He can feel the heat blazing off of the Archangel, calling to him like a fire in the middle of winter; seeping into his bones and gently soothing away his headache and pain and fatigue –

Michael shifts away and Alex can almost hear his thoughts snap back into clarity. The headache and his aching side and the goddamn _creature_ inside his head have come back with a vengeance. He can sense Michael still watching him, still standing too damn close and mucking up everything in his head again. Ignoring him, Alex closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling until the agony subsided. By the time he looked up again, Michael was standing a few more steps away and was watching the General approach.

“Are you sick, son?” The General asked, weather-worn face creased in worry. Alex had first met him as a newly minted V2, unused to and intimidated by the grandeur the upper echelon of Vega were privy to. It had been nice to meet a man so honest and down-to-earth while he was surrounded by some of the less savory members of the council.

“I’m fine, sir.” Alex tried to surreptitiously wipe the sudden sweat from his brow. “Just got dizzy for a second there.”

If anything, Michael’s expression became even more inscrutable. Alex shifted uncomfortably, waiting for the two men to continue on into the office. He just needed a moment alone, maybe some cold water to drink, and he’d be perfectly fine…

“Report back to the barracks, Lieutenant. Your rotation is over.” Michael turned on his heel, addressing the General who was watching them like he had found something intriguing. “Shall we continue to your office, General?”

Alex shoved away from the wall, the embarrassment of being so easily dismissed giving him strength. “Excuse me, sir, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m still fit for duty.”

Despite Michael’s prompting, the General remained in place, keeping a calculating eye on both of them. Michael gave a little snort of irritation, refusing to look directly at Alex. “Someone else will take up your post. Report back to the barracks.”

“I told you I’m fine –“

Michael spun around, his long coat billowing out behind him. There was an ominous sound, like the jacket was being pulled apart at the seams and Alex couldn’t stop himself from taking half a step back at the Archangel’s dark expression.

“You are still injured,” Michael’s voice was practically a whisper, thunderous and sibilant. He took a step closer. “Ergo, you are unfit for duty. I will not have you on guard duty when –“

_And there it is,_ Alex thought, embittered. His head ached so bad he could barely see straight, but damned if he was going to lay down and let some asshole walk all over him! “Do you have a personal problem with me, sir?”

Michael froze. It was clear he wasn’t used to being interrupted.

Alex drew himself up to his full height, ignoring the pain, and looked straight into Michael’s blue eyes. “Because if you have a problem with either my conduct or…with what occurred, sir, then maybe it’d be best I resign my position from the corps and –“

“No!” The vehemence behind that single word made him jump but seemed to surprise Michael most of all. He stalled for a moment, busily smoothing his jacket back into place. On anyone else, Alex might have said he was fidgeting and a quick glance at the amused look on the General’s face seemed to support that. Michael began again, tone softer, “No, that won’t be necessary, Lieutenant.”

There was no judgment on his face, for all that he refused to look at Alex. _Maybe I’m wrong,_ he thought. _Maybe he didn’t see anything, or maybe he doesn’t want me to leave._ The silence was heavy, filled with so many things that he wanted to say, but now wasn’t the time. With a final nod and a salute to the General, he stepped back into his post position. The General returned the salute sloppily and, with a final amused glance at the both of them, continued into his office alone. Alex concentrated on the far end of the hall, but he could still feel the heat of Michael’s gaze. Unable to bear it for long, he turned to ask what the Archangel still wanted and nearly swallowed his own tongue.

Michael was standing so close to him ( _how did I not notice him move?),_ looking at him with eyes gone nearly black. Alex’s breath caught in his chest and he felt his hand move without thinking, thumb coming up to rest on the creases beside Michael’s eye. He pressed down, watching the pale skin indent and Michael’s eyes flutter shut at the sensation. Without that scrutinizing glare, he could finally appreciate those long, black lashes, the full lower lip that just begged to be bitten…

He slid his hand gently down the side of Michael’s face, staring as his thumb smoothed along his clean-shaven jawline before finally pausing at the indent above his chin. His fingertip was just skirting along the edge of his bottom lip when Michael’s eyes opened and Alex felt like he had been pinned to the spot. _What the hell am I doing?,_ he thought, but the mental protests were futile at best. He felt better than he had in months; his headache gone, his energy restored. He felt like he could take on the world, humans and eight-balls alike, if only Michael would just let him keep touching him like this.

Staring into Michael’s eyes, he didn’t fail to notice when the other man’s gaze flickered to his lips and back. It was as much permission as he was going to get so, nervously and slowly, _so slowly,_ Alex leaned forward and brushed their lips together and –

Something in his soul _clicked_ into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the upcoming premiere of season 2 for reigniting my inspiration for this pairing. 
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for your bookmarks, kudos, and comments during my hiatus! They meant the world to me!


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